Close Your Eyes and Roll the Dice
by yuffiehighwind
Summary: Alan, one of the Men in Grey, wants Crumb to turn him into a vampire. Crumb agrees, but has no idea what's supposed to happen next. Takes place shortly after S5 Ep2 "Sticks and Rope."


_**Story Summary: **Alan, one of the Men in Grey, wants Crumb to turn him into a vampire. Crumb agrees, but has no idea what's supposed to happen next. Takes place shortly after S5 Ep2 "Sticks and Rope."_

_**Notes: **Slightly non-linear narrative. Slashy gen, Crumb/Alan. I use his given name Ian and "Crumb" interchangeably. Cross-posted to Archive of Our Own._

* * *

**Close Your Eyes and Roll the Dice**

"Are you ready?"

Alan took a deep breath. Then another. He shut his eyes and focused on slowing his racing heart. His employers had taught him a number of techniques to get through stressful situations - to still the fear, to stave off panic attacks. He had frequently encountered supernatural beings, and had dealt with the consequences of their actions on a daily basis. A crime scene investigator had to have a strong stomach. The men who covered up these same - and worse - crimes needed guts of steel.

The vampire, Ian Cram, also known as Crumb, waited impatiently for Alan to calm down enough to let him tip the younger man's head back, exposing his neck. Alan was one of the Men in Grey, a secret organization who had been covering up supernaturals for centuries, who had captured and subdued Ian with the ease and efficiency of a SWAT team. They had been clever enough to cover up his attack at work and soulless enough to trick him into murdering his own family. Alan had quietly, assuredly asked Ian to recruit him. This was what he _wanted_. And yet now the man hesitated.

Ian sat beside Alan on the couch, still bloody and messy - he had no mirror with which to clean himself up, anymore - hair greasy and clothes smeared with dried blood. He had shed his windbreaker, again clad in only a stained t-shirt and trousers. He bounced his feet up and down nervously, with pent-up energy, watching Alan out of the corner of his eye, his gaze drawn to the man's pulsing carotid artery. He could hear Alan's heartbeat, and the salty iron tang of blood smelled candy sweet to vampires. The thirst was so overwhelming that only half a day after ripping his family to shreds, the hunger pangs were back and his senses heightened more than any predator's on the planet. Even sharks weren't so keen to blood as this. None of Alan's even had to spill yet for Ian's mouth to water. Just sitting beside the human did the trick.

Ian licked his lips and stared at Alan's neck openly, not bothering to hide the thirst any longer. His face had always evoked pity from those around him, never fear, until that fateful day in the office, and the nervousness his gaze evoked from Alan made him giddy inside, happy again to be a monster. Someone was afraid of him! Even someone who had suppressed every fear and nagging bit of doubt for most of his life.

It was Crumb's insanity that bothered Alan. He wondered what this man had been like before he was infected. He had caught a glimpse of it on the beach, when they had chatted like normal men, connecting through their mutual affection for their favorite game. And then the madness was back.

Alan didn't entirely trust this madman. They had talked at length earlier about how to recruit - turn, make, infect, whatever you wanted to call it - but now it was time, and Alan's pulse betrayed his doubt.

"I asked if you were ready."

"Yes."

Alan removed his glasses and set them on the coffee table. He had shed his jacket and tie and unbuttoned his shirt. Ian closed the gap between them and leaned into Alan, deeply inhaling the human's scent. He tried very, _very_ hard to resist chomping down with both rows of teeth and sloppily ripping open Alan's neck to lap up his spurting blood while chewing on the exposed nerves and muscles. No, to be merciful he had to make two tiny bite marks - one from each fang - and drink down the saltysweet blood as he counted, as he concentrated, one hand gripping Alan's throat or wrist or chest to pinpoint how far was far enough, to bring him to the very brink of death without killing him.

Somehow he managed to only tear at Alan's flesh a little too hard, as the man cried out and clutched at Ian, digging his fingers into the vampire's skin as if to say, "Stop, no, don't, please!" Ian withdrew his teeth and stopped biting, stopped tearing. Let the blood steadily pour down his throat. Alan's grip slackened, his body going limp in Ian's arms. It was almost time, but Ian greedily wanted more. Could he stop himself? Was such self-control even possible in this new body?

He stopped, gasping, shuddering in pleasure. He pressed a hand to Alan's neck to stop the bleeding. The man still lived! He had done it!

Now the easier part. Ian held his own wrist to his lips, shoved down any remaining uncertainty and tore the vein open with his fangs. He held the bleeding wrist near Alan's mouth, murmuring, "Drink, you idiot." Alan was so far gone Ian had to press his wrist against the younger man's lips to drip the blood into his mouth. A few drops were all he needed to turn, Alan had said, so Ian started to withdraw his arm when Alan reached up to tightly grip it. He began to gulp down Ian's blood like it was a lifeline, like he hadn't drank water in days. The sensation was unlike any other. It was physically unpleasant, and startlingly personal. Alan's blood had merely been food to Ian, but now they were _sharing_ it. Now they were bonded, in a perversely intimate way. Ian hadn't been drained by his maker. He had lay in the street with a broken back and swiftly bleeding internal organs. If he could call up any fragment of memory from those moments he was near death, it would be of Hal pricking his finger and feeding Ian several drops of blood, and nothing more.

Ian wrenched Alan off of him and pulled away. The younger man gasped and fell back. Ian could hear his heart slow to a crawl, to that same impossible rhythm as his own. He put a hand over his wrist and stood up. The wound soon healed but he felt lightheaded. He picked up Alan's legs and plopped them on the sofa. He left him lying down and waited for something, anything, to happen. Figuring it was pointless and more than a little bit creepy to watch him transform, Ian got up and headed for the shower.

* * *

**_Earlier..._**

Ian genuinely smiled for the first time in days, this stranger's interest in _Flaming Orc_ a familiar, _human_ light in an otherwise dark week. His darkest, his world turned completely upside down by that first flash of black eyes and sharp teeth. Reborn as one of a whole new species he had thought only existed in his books, movies and games, with the vile need to dominate and feed on human blood regardless of whose it was.

Revenge on humanity was bittersweet. He thought the Men in Grey had kept him alive to utilize him somehow, make this horror all worth it. He didn't remember much of his captivity - just being higher than any drug could take him, not that he had ever tried more than marijuana. He had always been too afraid to indulge in any addiction more heady than the Internet. Mental illness had been a risk in his bloodline, wasn't it? What could literally losing your soul do to a mind?

This_...Alan_ had been one of those loathsome men who tricked a thirsty Ian into murdering the only two people he loved. Their blood had smelled so _good_, just like any human's here did. The wind needed only to pick up and the scent would waft his way and it was intoxicating, like drugs and sex combined - two things he had rarely experienced, the latter of which had been near impossible to get. He had been gifted with strength and heightened senses...and a craving for vengeance. These things combatted with his own genial nature and a desperate yearning to be normal again. To make Hal take him back and explain everything he was feeling. But no, Hal had cast him aside like trash, even though he was implicit in Ian's murders. The arrogant vampire needed to feel superior, to be the "good" guy. That was clearly not true. Whatever had motivated Hal to recruit him, it wasn't entirely altruistic.

Now, on the beach, so disgusted and exhausted by it all, Ian received some kindness from this Man in Grey, a kindred spirit. If circumstances had been different, they could have been friends. Alan didn't want friendship, he wanted an escape, but either was fine by Ian. They could give each other both.

Ian's eyes turned black and he bared his fangs at the man. Instead of recoiling, Alan shot him a look of disdain and whispered, "Not here."

Ian let out a disappointed "hmph" and his face transitioned back.

"Then where?"

"Your flat? Where do you live?"

Ian led the way, avoiding glances from the confused people they passed. What must they think of the bloody, wrecked mess that was Crumb walking alongside the straight-backed, suited, bespectacled Alan?

They finally reached his apartment and the awkwardness that had been steadily building peaked when Ian fumbled for his keys. He hadn't been back here in days, but the keys had to be somewhere in the bottom of his coat pocket. He rarely had visitors - he had no friends in this city, and no one he could call close friends at all, for that matter - and the strange, intimate nature of what they intended to do suddenly struck him. It was like bringing home a date.

Only a week earlier, Ian would have gladly welcomed a man like Alan into his home to watch films or play games. He had been growing desperate for such a connection. He had longed for the touch of a woman as well. _Any_ woman.

If he had brought one back to his flat to have sex, this moment of trying to get the key to fit in the damn lock, while he tried to remain suave and keep his cool, would probably go exactly the same way.

Ian's one-bedroom apartment was typical of a single man his age, with the added flair of paraphernalia from various fandoms. Beer, rugby and football intermingled with science fiction and fantasy. His pet newts had indeed starved in his absence, but now, in such close quarters with his new acquaintance, the sweet smell of human blood nudged any mourning for them aside.

Ian took off his windbreaker and flung it on a chair back. It slid to the floor.

He gestured for Alan to sit. The younger man hesitated before taking a seat on the couch. Ian scurried into the kitchen and hollered back, "I'll make you a cup of tea."

Alan made idle conversation, raising his voice so Ian could hear him in the other room, about the game, about TV - anything other than the gravity of the situation. Alan chose vampirism because he felt soulless already. Ian embraced it because he had always longed for power. Both were achingly lonely.

Ian came back with one mug. Alan took it and the older man stepped back, crossing his arms and biting his lip.

"So how do we do this?"

Alan looked at him incredulously.

"You mean you _don't know?_"

Ian sat down on a chair and replied, "I don't remember."

Alan tilted his head, smirking slightly.

"Lucky you're recruiting _me_, then. I know everything there is to know about vampires."

Ian's eyes narrowed.

"Do you know the hunger, then? You knew that day you locked me in that room."

"That was Rook's idea."

"It was unconscionable, is what it was."

"I'm not here to fight."

"No, you're here to...to...Why do you _want_ to be a vampire, again?"

"Who wouldn't?"

Ian bit his lip harder.

"How do we do this?" he asked again.

"What do you remember?"

"Hal, he...chased me into the street. I was hit by a car. I was dying."

Alan leaned forward, radiating interest and trying hard to emote sympathy. It had been a long time since he'd allowed himself to feel anything.

"I woke up in his cellar," Ian continued. "I was _terrified_ and...and _outraged._"

"He fed you his blood."

"What?"

"That's how vampires turn humans in fiction. Recruitment is the same in real life."

"Oh. Well..."

"The human must be near death, then feed on vampire blood. Even a few drops is effective enough to begin the transformation."

Ian looked relieved, then confused. Then shook his head.

"Oh, no..."

"You will need to drain me..."

"Without killing you. Yeah, yeah. But I don't know if I can do it."

"Of course you can."

"Did you _see_ what I did?" Ian shouted, standing up. "Did you see me kill my...my..."

Alan looked up at him impassively. Ian let out a frustrated, strangled sound, ran his fingers through his greasy, blood-stained hair and repeated, "I don't know if I can do this."

"I'll help you."

"I don't think you can help me much when you're passed out, bleeding everywhere."

Alan sipped his tea, his hand shaking slightly, betraying his suppressed nervousness.

"Perhaps..."

Ian looked at Alan expectantly, hopefully.

"We can find someone you can practice on."

Ian snorted in disdain.

"Who are we going to find on such short notice? And say to them, 'Oh, could you please let my friend _drain your blood_ until you're near the point of death, for _practice_?'"

"Why not? Are you in a hurry?"

Ian shook his head, then nodded. He wrapped his arms around himself and stayed a fair distance from the couch.

"You know everything about vampires, eh? Do you know how _fucking good_ you smell right now?"

Ian would deny up and down ever looking at another man with lust, but right now that was the expression Alan saw on his face. It was unbridled. _Ravenous._ That glint of madness was back, and his teeth looked sharp even with his fangs hidden. Covered in blood and sweat, Crumb could be both pitiful and frightening.

Alan said nothing. He drank his tea and looked around, anywhere that wasn't Ian's crazed eyes.

"Tell me what you know," Ian said, more softly, breaking the tense silence. "Don't leave out a single detail."

* * *

Sometime after feeding Alan his blood, Ian tried to occupy his mind with television while the younger man continued to "sleep" on his couch.

Alan no longer smelled human, which was a relief. The itch for blood still nagged at the back of Ian's mind, but not much, since he had only just fed. When Alan awoke, however, the younger man's own insatiable hunger would kick in, and Ian had no idea where to get him breakfast.

Alan would have some ideas, but now, he woke up groggy and dazed. He sat up and saw Ian was watching TV, impassive and bored. Hearing the rustling on the couch, the older man turned his head.

"Good morning."

"Is it morning already?"

"You slept a whole day."

"Did I?"

Alan didn't feel like he'd slept at all. His coma had been fraught with terrifying, painful nightmares. But now the pain was gone and his body felt stronger, with reserves of energy enough to run a marathon, and he could _never _have prepared for the sensation he felt next.

_Hunger_.

He moaned.

"What is it?"

Looking embarrassed, he replied, "N...nothing."

"Oh, right. Take a look outside," Ian said sardonically. "Everyone looks like lunch."

Alan stayed put for the moment, gaining his bearings. Then he remembered blood_._ Lots of rich _blood._

"How much of your blood did I...?"

Ian shot him a sharp look.

"Don't. Ask."

"It felt so..."

Ian squirmed uncomfortably.

"I feel _incredible._"

Ian let himself smile slightly at that.

"We need to celebrate!" Alan said, standing up and dashing to the window. He caught a glimpse of a passing neighbor and licked his lips.

"I know I'm supposed to be the teacher," Ian said, "But I have a feeling you're the one who will teach _me _how to hunt."

That same glint of Crumb's madness now lit up Alan's eyes, and he replied, with a sly smile, "Yes. Yes I will."


End file.
